You know people make it look as if your world is in shreds when you stay indoors; they may not care about what you do when you're within the confine of your home, they may not care what you need it for, whether that's the only thing that makes you sane, they may not know what in there, behind that your most precious door you adore, all they know is; your life sucks, and they say it even when they don't. Suddenly you begin to feel the heat of their words around your head like a piece of feather kept close to fire to be pampered by the odour of its own shrinking skin, you begin to drown in that assumption that whether they are right, whether your life is a pale of dung left in a room, locked up to smell to itself, you then one time decided to leave the house, you know, to feel what other people felt and hear what other people heard that makes then sing aloud and say, hosanna to their highness, then you discover, you don't flow along with their ideology, that their wo...
Where words are sacrificed at the Altar of Creativity